


Fortune's Fool

by Pargoletta



Series: Caro-verse [10]
Category: Romeo And Juliet - Shakespeare, SHAKESPEARE William - Works
Genre: Gen, Orphanage, Orphans, Vanity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-16
Updated: 2011-06-16
Packaged: 2017-10-20 11:38:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,965
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/212394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pargoletta/pseuds/Pargoletta
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eleven-year-old Marcello Montague learns to appreciate some of the finer things in life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. As Flies To Wanton Boys

**Author's Note:**

> Note: Welcome to this story! It's nothing overly consequential, but I felt like getting to know some of the youngest generation. Here you'll meet Marcello Montague, son of Romeo and Juliet, as well as some of his friends. You'll also see what sort of adults the kids of _Caro_ have grown up to be. It's the early seventeenth century, and most of them are around thirty or so by now. Sister Clemenza, who doesn't actually appear in this story, is Romeo's old crush Rosaline.
> 
> Clothes initially play an important part in this story. I am sorry to report that the early seventeenth century was the era in which men dressed in brocaded doublets with collars up to their chins, edged with ruffles, and hose over which they pulled poofy trunks that came down to mid-thigh, usually topping this ensemble off with an absurd little hat. Alas.
> 
> Horehound is an herb that was traditionally boiled into hard candies used both as sweets and as cough drops. You can still find it in a few old-fashioned candy shoppes today. It's pretty tasty.
> 
> Enjoy the story, and I'll meet you at the end!

**1\. As Flies To Wanton Boys**

* * *

"Pull, little master, pull!"

Marcello Montague braced himself and leaned back as his valet Fabrizio grasped the sleeves of his doublet. They remained suspended for a few moments, and then Marcello leaned forward.

"Well, Fabrizio?" he asked. "Have we succeeded?"

Fabrizio surveyed Marcello's sleeves, and his brow wrinkled thoughtfully. "Alas, little master, I know not. Thy sleeves fall to thy wrists now, but what they will do when thou must move thy arms to write or to handle a book, I know not."

Marcello sighed. "It must only be enough so that Papa does not notice." The dark green doublet was his favorite, and he could not bear to think that he might need to cast it aside.

Fabrizio carefully straightened the garment and fluffed up the frill that peeked out over the high collar. Then he pulled at the short striped trunks that puffed over hose of the same dark green as the doublet so that the trunks puffed out around Marcello's legs. "There," he said. "Now my little master is ready to appear at school."

Marcello nodded politely, then picked up his books, set his cap on his head, and hurried downstairs for his father's inspection.

* * *

"Who among you can tell me the name of the saint whose feast we celebrate today?" Father Cristoforo asked.

The two dozen young boys in the monastery schoolroom fidgeted a little as they recited lists in their head. Marcello stuck his tongue out between his teeth and counted on his fingers. There was something special about this day, and if he could only think hard enough, he might remember what it was.

A knock on the door broke his concentration, but he smiled along with the rest of the boys when he saw old Father Lawrence's smiling face. Father Cristoforo inclined his head graciously. "Be welcome, Brother Lawrence," he said. "Wherefore do you grace us with your presence today?"

The boys waited for the answer with some excitement. Father Lawrence's mind was known to wander, and he had more than once forgotten himself and tottered into the schoolroom to resume the lessons that he had ceased to teach some twenty years before.

However, there would be no such drama today. Father Lawrence merely smiled, his eyes sparkling under enormous, bushy brows. "I have come to visit your pupils, Brother Cristoforo," he said. "I wish to see the fire of young minds alive with learning. What have you taught them?"

Father Cristoforo turned back to the class. "I have just asked if there is one among them who can tell us which saint we honor today. Has anyone recalled the name? Brother Lawrence may have a small prize for the correct response."

Marcello knew that Father Lawrence often carried a bag of sweet horehound drops for his throat, and he would sometimes give one to a schoolboy he felt had merited a reward. Even though he was eleven years old and far too old to be bribed, Marcello liked both horehound drops and the prospect of being the one to receive the prize in front of all his schoolmates. He squeezed his eyes shut, and an image of a painted wooden statue appeared in his mind. Quickly, before the image could evaporate, Marcello thrust his hand into the air. "I know the saint!" he cried.

Before Father Cristoforo could respond, the boys sitting immediately next to Marcello started to laugh. Puzzled, Marcello started to lower his hand, but stopped when he felt a breeze under his arm. He explored with his hand, and was mortified to discover that the laces that joined the sleeve of his doublet to the body had burst with the force of his movement, and the doublet itself had split down the side. His nose burned with shame, and he sank back into his seat.

"Peace, be quiet!" Father Cristoforo said, and the laughter quieted, though Marcello heard a few boys still snickering. Father Cristoforo turned to Marcello, smiling as if nothing had gone amiss. "Marcello, did you wish to answer the question I put to the class?"

Marcello took a deep breath. "Today is the first feast of Saint Zeno, the eighth bishop of our city of Verona, and our patron saint," he said, not nearly as triumphantly as he had intended.

Father Cristoforo nodded. "Indeed. That is correct. Today we celebrate Saint Zeno."

Father Lawrence shuffled across the schoolroom, reached into his pouch, and withdrew a few horehound drops. "Young Montague has the answer, of course," he said, placing the candy in Marcello's outstretched hand. "I am glad to see a Montague take the prize."

He patted Marcello on the head and shuffled away, pausing at the door to bless the class with the sign of the cross. Marcello slipped the horehound drops into his belt pouch, to be eaten later. He resolved not to share any of them with the boys who had laughed at his too-small doublet.

* * *

Marcello's pride carried him through the rest of the school day and all the way home. But as soon as he passed through the gate and into the gardens that joined his home with his grandfather's home, the tears of shame that he had held back all day began to fall.

"Why, Marcello! What has happened? Why dost thou weep?" Before Marcello could wipe his face, his mother appeared in the garden, towing his little sister Olivia by the hand. Mama and Olivia both wore veils, and Marcello remembered that today was visitors' day at the Benedictine convent where his godmother Sister Clemenza resided.

Olivia hurried to embrace her adored big brother, and Mama arrived only a step behind to take his face in her hands and gaze upon him with concern in her large green eyes. "Thou hast no fever," she said, but the worry did not leave her face. "Canst thou tell me what has happened to distress thee so?"

Marcello hung his head. He supposed that, if he had to do something so babyish as cry, it was best to do so where only his mother and his sister could see, but he wished that he had not cried at all. "The other schoolboys laughed in my face," he mumbled.

Mama frowned. "Wherefore did they so?"

"Because my doublet tore where all could see." Marcello set his books on the ground and raised his arm to reveal the burst laces and seam. Mama inspected the tear.

"Olivia, wilt thou run and call Nurse to come to us?" she asked. Olivia skittered away. Mama tugged at the torn halves of the seam. "Well, it is small wonder that the garment is torn," she said at last. "Thou art become such a great lad that thou hast grown beyond its confines. I shall speak with thy father anon, and we shall summon the tailor to fit thee out anew."

"Must we do so, Mama?" Marcello knew that such complaining was petty and that he would have to confess it before Sunday Mass, but he could not help himself. "It is my favorite doublet."

Olivia returned, with Nurse Angelica waddling behind her. "How now, Juliet? Ay me, what distresses Marcello so?"

At Mama's prompting, Marcello raised his arm again. Mama and Nurse Angelica leaned closer.

"Canst thou mend this tear?" Mama asked.

Nurse Angelica frowned. "Not well. That doublet has been let out at the seams already, and no more remains. I might patch it, but it will never be as fine again."

"Then do so," Mama said. "It will take time for new garments to be ready, and my son should not run naked in the meantime. I shall bring the doublet to thee this evening. Tell me, where is Romeo?"

"He is on the far side of the arbor, my lady, with his lord father."

"Then we shall go to him at once. Nurse, wait thou here with Olivia."

Nurse Angelica curtsied a little, and allowed Olivia to seize her hand and lead her away to hear all the details of the visit to the convent. Marcello picked his books up and followed Mama through the honeysuckle arbor to his grandfather's side of the garden.

Papa was sitting out with Grandfather, both of them holding goblets of wine. They rose to their feet when Mama and Marcello approached. Papa inclined his head and kissed Mama's hand, then smiled broadly and ruffled Marcello's hair. "How fare thy studies, lad?" he asked.

Marcello shrugged. "Father Lawrence visited the school today, and he offered a prize for the boy who could answer Father Cristoforo's question. I took home the prize." He dug in his pocket and showed some of the horehound drops as proof.

Papa and Grandfather both laughed approvingly. Grandfather's eyes sparkled above his neat white beard. "Romeo, thy son bests thee at schoolwork," he said.

"In that, I am well pleased," Papa replied amiably. "In his brilliance of mind, he favors my lady Juliet."

Mama blushed, but her smile showed the faintest tinge of pride. Marcello glanced from her to Papa, somewhat startled. It had never before occurred to him that his Papa might not have been the best at something.

"Who was more clever than you in school, Papa?" Marcello asked.

Papa smiled. "For a while, thy Uncle Mercutio was the cleverest boy in our school," he said. "But then his father hired a tutor to educate him at home, and thy Uncle Benvolio was the cleverest."

Marcello sighed. "Would that I might have a tutor at home," he muttered.

Papa's smile faded. "Why, Marcello, what is the matter? Dost thou not enjoy thy school?"

"His pride has suffered a grievous blow today," Mama put in. At her prodding, Marcello raised his arm to display his ripped seam. "I fear we must call the tailor once again," Mama said.

Papa grimaced, and Grandfather laughed. "Children will grow," he said. "Now canst thou appreciate the pains that thy lady mother - God rest her soul - and I did take to keep thee and Benvolio in proper suits!"

"I shall summon the tailor on the morrow," Papa said. "How now, Marcello, shall I not have a little smile? Thou wilt have new clothes."

Marcello wrinkled his nose. "I would not part with my doublet," he mumbled. "It is soft and handsome, and it is my favorite of all."

"Then I shall instruct the tailor to make the new as like to the old as two coins in a purse," Mama said. "Thou wilt be as handsome as ever, and I shall ensure that thy castoffs find homes where they will be well loved."

At that moment, Fabrizio stepped through the arbor. "Madam," he said, sketching a bow, "the fencing master is come."

Papa gave Marcello one last pat on the shoulder. "Go to thy lesson, son. We shall summon the tailor on the morrow, and then wilt thou have clothes that will not tear before thy schoolmates' eyes."

Mollified, Marcello nodded politely and followed Fabrizio back into the house.

* * *

When Marcello arrived home from school the next day, the tailor was waiting for him. They went upstairs to Marcello's chamber, where Marcello took off his old, patched doublet and his shirt and handed them to Fabrizio. The tailor measured him carefully all over, writing down the figures in his little book. Marcello craned his neck and caught a glimpse of some of the numbers.

"Am I tall for a lad of my age?" he asked.

The tailor sat back on his heels. "Not remarkably so," he said, "but thou art but eleven years of age. Thou hast much more growth in thy future, should God will it."

"Will I be tall?" Marcello demanded. He longed to be stately and commanding like Papa or County Paris.

The tailor smiled and bade Marcello place a foot on his measuring string. He squinted carefully at the markings near the heel and toe. "I wager thou wilt grow into a fine figure of a man, if thy foot tell half the tale," he said. "And that is good tidings for me, for I shall be called to attend this house many times ere thou dost achieve such lofty heights."

Marcello grinned and donned his shirt and doublet. The tailor folded his string into his book and went to consult with Mama and Papa.

Marcello had to wear his old doublets for a while longer while the tailor made up his new suits. Nurse Angelica had patched them skillfully, but there was no denying the fact that they had been patched. Mama hurried to reassure Marcello that the patches hardly showed at all, but Marcello did not mind. He was careful to raise his hand gently in school, and he ignored the other boys' mild teasing. Soon his new suits would be ready, and then he would once again be the handsomest boy in the Latin school.


	2. As Flies To Wanton Boys

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **2\. A Child That Hath New Robes**

**2\. A Child That Hath New Robes**

* * *

Papa had ordered so much clothing for Marcello that it was nearly a fortnight before the first suit arrived at the Montague home. During that fortnight, Mama praised Marcello for wearing his patched old suits without complaint. She seemed so pleased that Marcello did not have the heart to tell her how much he would miss the old doublets, which had just begun to be really soft and comfortable. He wondered briefly if he might be able to keep his favorite doublet, not to wear any longer, but simply to have. However, when he mentioned the idea to Nurse Angelica, the old woman stopped brushing Olivia's hair and laughed.

"Why, what a thought, boy," she gasped. "What wouldst thou do with an old doublet, then? An old, worn garment is hardly a proper keepsake. Nay, boy, there are lads in the kitchens who are glad of thy castoffs. 'Tis only just that they should have gifts of clothing from the family. Why, when I was a girl, I had the finest dress made over for me from an old castoff of my mistress. I wore it to church of a Sunday, and I caught the eye of my husband, God rest his soul."

Olivia giggled. "And did you have lots of babies?"

Nurse Angelica sighed, and her smile grew strained. "None but Susan, and she was too good for this earth. Ah, me."

Interested in spite of himself, Marcello edged a little closer. "What did you do then?" he asked. "Did you run mad in the streets, as did that lady last winter?"

"What? Nay, fie on such a thought!" Nurse Angelica roused herself from her daydream and swatted at Marcello. "That lady was a gentlewoman. I had no time to run mad in the streets. I had thy lady mother to nurse, and she was the prettiest little thing, oh was she not."

"Mama is the most beautiful lady in the world," Olivia declared. "When I am grown, I will be as beautiful as Mama."

Nurse Angelica crowed with delight and reached for the hairbrush again. Marcello rolled his eyes and left to go play elsewhere.

* * *

As he crept through the house, he kept a special watch for any of the little serving boys who could occasionally be spotted using their small fingers to polish intricate carvings. When he spied one, just a little younger than himself, he concealed himself behind a table and studied the boy's clothes. To his astonishment, he realized that the boy was wearing a jacket that bore a suspicious resemblance to a doublet Marcello had outgrown some time earlier. As Marcello watched the boy, he began to see the places where the doublet had been cut and sewn again, where ornaments had been replaced with simpler, more practical trimmings, and where a tear or two had been skillfully mended. It was his old doublet, and it was not.

Marcello crept away and went up to the solar, where he took a book for show and then sat by the window to consider what he had just learned. He knew that charity was a virtue, and he always enjoyed going to Mass and dropping the coins that Papa gave him into the poorbox. He had no need of his outgrown clothing, and there was no one else in the family who could wear it; Olivia had her own dresses, and Marcello had no younger brothers. His little cousin Dionisio, the son of County Paris, had his own tailor who made finer clothes than Marcello's, so he also had no need of Marcello's old suits.

All of Marcello's logic and morals told him that giving castoff clothing to servants was the right and proper thing to do. But he could not silence the treacherous voice within that wept like a small child at the thought of someone else wearing clothes that had once been his. Ashamed, Marcello buried that voice deep within his heart. He ought to go at once to shrift and confess it, but he decided to wait until he felt brave enough to do so.

At least it was only servant boys wearing his old clothes, Marcello told himself. It was only proper for their station in life, and he was not required to play with them. He allowed that thought to comfort him and was at last able to enjoy the book he had selected.

* * *

The tailor's three errand boys arrived on a Friday, just as Marcello arrived home from school. Papa welcomed them into a receiving chamber, and sent a page to fetch Mama. The errand boys bore large bundles, which they opened to reveal shirts, doublets, sleeves and hose. Mama examined the garments and pronounced them good, and one of the errand boys handed Papa a bill. Papa thanked him, produced a coin for each of the boys, and sent them on their way.

Pages bore the bundles upstairs to Marcello's chamber, where Fabrizio sorted through the suits. Marcello took advantage of an opportunity when Fabrizio's back was turned to paw through the bundles, and sure enough, there was a copy of his favorite old green doublet that was now torn down the side. The copy was new and stiff, but Marcello was glad to see it anyway.

Olivia trotted up to the door, with Nurse Angelica trailing behind her. Her eyes and her mouth went perfectly round as she took in the piles of new clothes draped around Marcello's chamber. "I wish to see!" she cried.

Marcello was pleased to have an audience for his new finery, even if it was just his little sister. "Come in," he said.

Olivia bounded over to the bed and buried her face in the pile of doublets. "Umm," she said, her voice muffled in the fabric. "They smell all warm and new."

"Then that is how they ought to smell, thou silly goose," Marcello said with a laugh.

Olivia ignored him and dug deeper into the pile. Finally, she extracted a fine garment, made of deep blue velvet trimmed in silver, with a high collar that supported a little ruff and sleeves made of blue brocade. "This one is best," she declared. "Wilt thou wear this one to church on Sunday morn?"

Marcello took the fine doublet and held it against his chest as he stood before the mirror. It would make him look like a young gentleman, he decided. He wondered if Papa might lend him one of his tall brimmed hats with a feather in the band to top it off.

"Oh, prithee, wilt thou wear it?" Olivia begged. "Thou wilt be so very handsome, and I shall show thee off to all of my friends. This is my brother, Marcello Montague, the handsomest man in all Verona."

Marcello laughed, and his voice was still high as a woman's, though a shade of huskiness had crept into it of late. "I am no man yet, Olivia," he said. "This doublet will doubtless pinch me sore ere I may be called a man."

Olivia put her nose in the air. "Then I shall not call thee a man," she sniffed. "But I shall still boast that thou art handsome, an thou wilt wear that doublet in the church. Mama has caused no new dress to be made for me, so I must needs show thee to my friends instead."

"Very well, thou shalt have thy way." Marcello set the blue velvet down and mussed Olivia's hair. "I shall wear this velvet on Sunday. And do not fear, thou wilt have thy own new dresses in time."

* * *

The next morning, Marcello felt fine indeed as he paraded through the streets of Verona, resplendent in his new blue velvet doublet, blue linen hose, and the hat that Papa had lent him. Little Dionisio looked at him enviously, and some of the boys from the Latin school gaped. Marcello strutted a little. He knew that he was committing the sins of pride and vanity, right there in the church, but Papa's indulgent smile told him that this was a special occasion, on which those sins were no sin at all.

After Mass was over, the adults milled around the church making friendly conversation. Marcello went to the door and contemplated the market outside. It was lively and bustling, and he hurried back to his parents to ask permission to go and explore it. Mama was walking toward the cloister garden with her cousin Countess Helena, so Marcello went looking for Papa.

He found Papa laughing with his two dear friends, Marcello's Uncle Benvolio and Uncle Mercutio. Marcello liked his uncles, who were Papa's old playmates and such good friends that they

seemed to spend most of their time in each other's company. Uncle Mercutio caught sight of Marcello first and cheered.

"Why Romeo!" he cried. "Can this fine feathered bird truly be young Marcello, or has Mab sent thee a changeling in the night? Look thee, Benvolio, see the dashing young gentleman who stands in thy godson's place today!"

Marcello pulled himself even straighter, and Uncle Benvolio smiled at him. "Thy new suit becomes thee well," Uncle Benvolio said.

"Ay," Uncle Mercutio added. "I shall forever envy those with such fine legs for hose and trunks." Uncle Mercutio's own legs were thin and spindly, and he wore his trunks slightly longer than was strictly fashionable because of that.

Marcello basked in the compliments, but remembered his original mission. "May I go and play in the market, Papa?" he asked. "I shall take great care not to spoil my suit."

Papa laughed. "Ay, go and play," he said. "Thou art a great boy of eleven years, and I shall trust thee with thy velvet."

* * *

On Monday, Marcello chose for school a suit that was plainer than his blue Sunday velvet but still rich and fine, with a quilted brown waist that set off bright red sleeves embroidered with a feathery gold pattern. His classmates admired him, and he could run and play as much as he pleased without fearing that his clothes would tear.

Over the course of the week, Marcello accustomed himself to his new clothing. It was a pleasure to have sleeves that were just the right length and waists that did not pinch. He even realized that the larger copy of his green doublet was no longer his favorite, and that he much preferred a wine-colored one with stripes. He thought it made him look much more grown up, and both Mama and Nurse Angelica agreed that the color complemented his eyes.

That Sunday, Marcello went to church in a suit that was not quite as fine as the one he had worn on the Sunday when all the clothes were freshly arrived, but which was still fine and becoming. All of his grandparents praised his choice, which was rare, for Grandfather Montague never seemed to agree with Grandfather and Grandmother Capulet about which colors became Marcello best.

After Mass, Marcello handed his hat and short cloak to Fabrizio and went to run and play with the other boys in the piazza. This was always an interesting day, for not all of his Sunday playmates were his companions at the Latin school. Some were inmates of Verona's Innocents' Hospital, an institution that Marcello's uncles had founded. The orphans and bastards who lived there were destined for apprenticeships or service, but in the meantime, they were allowed to play on Sundays with the sons of gentlemen. Marcello was vaguely aware that there were some gentlemen in Verona who did not find this fitting, but he himself had never minded. The Hospital inmates were entertaining companions, and they always knew games that Marcello had never played before.

Today, one of the older boys was showing Marcello and his friend Gioacchino how to toss knucklebones. Marcello had already mastered some of the simpler throws, and was working on a complex move called "Horse in the stable." He hoped that, if he got to be very skilled at the game, the Hospital boys might invite him to wager with them, or even teach him how to tell fortunes on the bones.

Nearby, some of the littler boys chased a hoop that they rolled all around the piazza. Marcello kept an eye on them to ensure that they did not roll their hoop near the knucklebones. As he glanced at them, he noticed something familiar about one of the boys. He had to look several times before he realized what it was.

The boy, who was roughly Olivia's age, was wearing a clean green doublet that was clearly secondhand. It had been stripped of a certain amount of its trimming, and it had been resewn to make it smaller, but there was no doubt but that it was Marcello's old doublet.

All at once, fury boiled up in Marcello's breast, and he realized in a flash why the gentlemen of Verona did not like to see their sons playing with the Hospital boys. That doublet was his doublet! It would have been very well to see it on one of the serving boys in the Montague home, but that was family. No one knew where this boy came from; more than likely he was a shameful bastard, and here he was, parading around on the piazza for all to see, wearing a garment that Marcello still considered his own.

With a cry of rage, Marcello abandoned the knucklebones and charged at the boy. "Take it off!" he roared. "That is mine! Thou hast no right to the clothes of a gentleman, thou thieving little bastard!"

He grabbed and pinched at the doublet as the boy shrieked and swatted him.

"Sebastian!" Another little boy, the twin of the one Marcello fought, ran to beat at Marcello with his fists. "Fie upon thee! Thou wilt not harm my brother, thou prating runagate!"

"Hold! What noise is this?" Before Marcello had time to think, strong hands seized his arm and pried him away from Sebastian. He was turned around on the spot and found himself face to face with Uncle Mercutio. Not far away, Uncle Benvolio tended to Sebastian and his brother.

"Marcello, what hast thou done here?" Uncle Mercutio demanded.

Marcello drew himself up straight, fairly bursting to share his indignity with one of the highest born gentlemen in Verona. He pointed at Sebastian. "That . . . that whoreson hath stolen the raiment of the House of Montague," he said, "and now he will show his pretended glory before all the world."

Marcello had spoken in full expectation of support, but one look at Uncle Mercutio's face told him that he had been sorely mistaken. A cold pit opened up in Marcello's stomach as he remembered that Uncle Mercutio and Uncle Benvolio ran the Innocents' Hospital where Sebastian and his brother lived.

"Do I hear thy words aright?" Uncle Mercutio asked, disbelief and cold anger chasing each other across his face. "Wouldst thou assault a poor child, smaller than thou and less equipped to quarrel? And all for the sake of a simple garment?"

"It is for the honor of the House of Montague," Marcello replied, but his protest withered even as he spoke it.

"A pox upon the honor of the House of Montague, for thou hast no sense of the matter, nor any sense of proportion!" Uncle Mercutio glared at Marcello, and his blue eyes burned with cold fire.

Marcello gulped. "I shall not do so again," he offered.

"Nay, thou wilt not, I am sure of it." Uncle Mercutio glanced away for a moment. "Benvolio, how fare our charges?"

Uncle Benvolio looked back. "Benedetto is unharmed, but Sebastian will want a poultice for his cheek and a seamstress for his clothes. I shall bring them home at once."

"Do so. I shall follow thee anon." But Uncle Mercutio's grip on Marcello's shoulders did not lessen.

"What will you do, Uncle Mercutio?" Marcello's voice wobbled a little. "Will you tell my father what I have done?"

In an instant, Uncle Mercutio's attention was back on Marcello. His anger vanished, to be replaced by a look of cold contempt. "Tell thy father? Nay, I shall do no such thing. Thou shalt tell him of thy misdeed thyself."

And with that, he marched Marcello out of the piazza towards his home.


	3. To Hear True Shrift

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **3\. To Hear True Shrift**
> 
> * * *

**3\. To Hear True Shrift**

* * *

Uncle Mercutio did not say a word, but his hand was firm on Marcello's collar as they strode through the streets of Verona. Such cold silence from Uncle Mercutio was nearly as terrifying as the prospect of the beating that Marcello was sure to receive from Papa. In his mind, Marcello rehearsed the tale that he would tell when he confronted his parents, but he could not think of a way to tell it that did not make him look bad. Eventually, he gave up, and simply walked and tried to swallow the growing dread within him.

When they arrived at Marcello's house, Uncle Mercutio let go of Marcello's collar. "Romeo!" he called. "Come and hear the tale that thy son has to tell thee!"

Papa hurried into the receiving room, with Mama following close behind. Papa stopped short and stared in puzzlement. Marcello was sure they made a strange picture, Uncle Mercutio seething and himself shrinking back, small and pathetic.

"Why, Mercutio," Papa said. "What has happened to anger thee so? Is Marcello injured?"

"Nay, he is not." Uncle Mercutio's voice dripped scorn. "The same cannot be said of the other child. Marcello will tell thee all."

Papa frowned. "Other child?" His eyes met Marcello's. "Tell me the full tale, son."

Marcello swallowed and looked around the room. Papa looked expectant, Mama looked vaguely worried, and Uncle Mercutio looked angry. There would be no help from any adult quarter. If he must tell, he decided, it was best that it were done quickly, so that he might suffer his punishment and return to his family's good graces. With a sigh and a final glance at Uncle Mercutio, Marcello opened his mouth and began to speak. He told the truth, as far as he was able, though he made sure to include his indignation at Sebastian's appropriation of Montague property as well. When he had finished, he cast his eyes down to his feet.

There was silence for a long, dreadful moment after Marcello finished speaking. He glanced up shyly, unable to bear the suspense. The first thing he saw was a look of crushing disappointment on Mama's face. It was the first time that she had ever looked at him thus, and in that moment, his heart broke. He wished with all his might that he could relive the morning and avoid fighting Sebastian, just so that Mama would not look at him like that. He tore his eyes away from her and looked at Papa.

Papa was furious, just as angry as Uncle Mercutio, if not more so. In its own way, Papa's anger was even more terrifying than Uncle Mercutio's; when Uncle Mercutio was angry, an occurrence that was not precisely uncommon, he would yell and bluster, and then someone, often Papa or Uncle Benvolio, would speak to him softly, and he would grow quiet and walk away for a while. Marcello was accustomed to this, and if Uncle Mercutio's anger was frightening, it was also at least somewhat predictable. But Papa's face had gone red, his jaw had tightened, and the veins in his forehead stood out. There was no telling what Papa might do in his anger, and Marcello feared that neither Mama nor Uncle Mercutio would be of a mind to protect him.

"Marcello, thou craven, whining mammet!" Papa roared. "Hast thou truly no better wit than to spend thy days tormenting a poor wretch who has done naught save receive the charity of the House of Montague? Hast thou no understanding of honor, or of the meaning of charity? Thou wouldst brawl in the street with a knave smaller than thou, a boy so poor that he must depend upon the good will of strangers, who has committed no sin against anyone in his short life save only that his birth was inconvenient! And thou dost name this honor! I ought to -"

"But thou wilt not," Uncle Mercutio said, and though his voice was quiet, there was steel in it.

Startled, Marcello glanced up. But Uncle Mercutio was not looking at him. Instead, his gaze was fixed on Papa's, as if he were daring Papa to complete the doom he had been about to pronounce.

After a moment, Papa shook his head. "Nay, Mercutio. I shall not. Thou hast the right of it." He turned back to Marcello, and his fury seemed more temperate. "Get thee hence, Marcello," he said. "Hie thee to thy chamber, and remain there until I come to thee."

Marcello was not one to question good fortune. Uncle Mercutio had saved him from a thrashing, and he would not disobey Papa a second time. He sketched a quick bow to the adults, then fled the receiving room to the relative safety of his bedchamber.

* * *

The afternoon wore on. It was clear that Marcello was in deep disgrace, for it had been several hours, and Papa had not come to fetch him. Fabrizio had brought him a plate of food, but had not spoken. Olivia had tried to visit him, only to be shooed away by Nurse Angelica. Marcello lay sprawled across his bed, bored and apprehensive.

A knock on his door startled him from his reverie, and he looked up to see Mama entering his chamber. The shock had vanished from her face, but the disappointment remained. Marcello shifted so that he sat against the cushions at the head of the bed, and Mama sat down on the bed next to him.

"Well," she said, "thou hast a careful father, Marcello. He has arranged a penance for thee that is altogether fitting, and he will come and tell it thee himself after he has bid Mercutio farewell."

"I am not to be thrashed?" Marcello asked.

Mama shook her head. "Nay, he will not beat thee." She pursed her lips and glanced away for a moment. "Before thy father comes to thee, Marcello . . . canst thou tell me why thou didst assault that poor child so? What strange notion entered thy head this morning?"

Marcello squirmed against the cushion. "I have already told that tale, Mama. He insulted the House of Montague by wearing a gentleman's doublet in the public haunt of men."

"Oh, Marcello, that cannot be the cause. Thou knowest full well that such action is no insult."

"It was an insult, Mama!" Marcello cried. "It was my doublet that he wore! My favorite doublet!"

Mama stared at him, and Marcello knew not whether she intended to weep or laugh at him. Finally, she sighed and shook her head.

"Thou hast no use for that doublet," she said. "It fits thee no longer. Did I not tell thee that we would find a new home for it?"

"Ay. But I did not wish to see it again so soon, and on a boy who has no cause to love it as I did."

Mama's eyes flashed. "Now art thou a fool. Thou hast as many fine suits as any boy could desire. I caused thy old doublet to be copied, and still thou hast chosen others to replace it in thy affections. The inmates of the Innocents' Hospital must depend on the charity of others for every stitch upon their backs. Surely they have more cause to love that doublet than thou didst ever have! How canst thou grudge them the clothes that thou canst wear no longer?"

For that, Marcello had no answer. He curled into a shameful little ball. Mama waited for a while. But, when Marcello spoke no word, she leaned over to kiss the top of his head, then rose and left his chamber.

Papa appeared only a short time later. Marcello started to scramble to his feet, but Papa sat down beside him, where Mama had sat earlier. "Thou art a fortunate child," he said. "Mark this, for one day thou wilt truly understand it."

"Has Uncle Mercutio left?" Marcello asked.

"Ay, he is gone. Thank him when next thou hast opportunity, for he has ensured that thou wilt not receive the thrashing that thou hast earned."

A little bit of hope flared in Marcello's breast. "He does not hate me?"

Papa laughed, though there was no mirth in it. "Thou knowest little of Mercutio if thou dost think that he could ever hate thee, Marcello. He is angered, but he loves thee far more than thou dost appreciate."

"He might have beaten me in the piazza."

"Had he done so, thou wouldst have earned it; Sebastian is his charge as much as thou art mine. But think now. Hast thou ever seen Mercutio raise his hand to a child?"

Marcello had to admit that he had not.

"He doth not so," Papa said. "That is thy fortune. Instead, he has persuaded me to devise a different penance, fitting for one so heedless of his own wealth and grace."

"What must I do?" Marcello asked.

Papa raised his eyebrows. "Since it is clear that thou hast no sense of the grace in thy life," he said, "thy penance is to do without it for a fortnight. Mercutio will accept thee as an inmate of the Innocents' Hospital for that time. Thou wilt live as do the poor bastards and orphans of this city. Thou wilt eat with them, work with them, and wear such clothes as charity allows. Perhaps when thou dost return to us, thou wilt appreciate thy own riches."

For a moment, Marcello could only stare, open-mouthed. "But . . . but what of my lessons?" he choked out. "What of school? Surely Father Cristoforo will miss my presence."

"I shall speak to him," Papa said. "As for lessons, thou wilt have such lessons as the Innocents' Hospital may provide. After all, thy school is also a privilege of rank. Thy other lessons are all for the purpose of making a gentleman of thee, and this brief interlude shall serve to that end as well."

When Papa spoke so firmly, Marcello knew that it would be useless to argue. He would go to the Innocents' Hospital for a fortnight, and that was that. He bowed his head and tried hard not to cry, but a few shameful tears leaked out anyway. "When must I leave?" he asked, his voice wobbling a little.

"Fabrizio will deliver thee at the hour of nine tomorrow," Papa said. "Mercutio and Benvolio will have a bed prepared for thee."

At least there would be a real bed. That was something. Marcello had feared that he would have to sleep on a straw pallet on the floor, as some of the younger kitchen boys did. He sighed and tried to resign himself to his fate. "Papa?"

"Ay, Marcello?"

"Dost thou still love me?"

Papa looked startled. "Why, Marcello, what manner of question is that? I love thee with all my heart, as I have done since the first moment that thy lady mother laid thee in my arms. Thy present conduct is appalling, but it does not mean that I love thee any less."

He reached out and ruffled Marcello's hair. Marcello tried to smile, but his stomach churned at the prospect of facing Sebastian and Benedetto in their home the next morning. "May I come out of my chamber now?" he asked. "I would bid Olivia farewell, for I shall not see her for a fortnight."

At that, Papa laughed his light-hearted chuckle. "Of courst thou mayst bid thy sister farewell," he said. "Thou wilt have one final night at home with us, do not fear. But mark it well, for that is more grace than is given to the true orphans with whom thou wilt associate."

* * *

Sleep did not come easily to Marcello that night. He knew he ought to rest before the shock of his move in the morning, but he found himself too consumed with worry to relax. He wondered if he would miss his family enough to cry in front of the older, tougher boys, if Sebastian might seek revenge against him, if his schoolmates would think him a fool when they learned why he was not with them that day, and if the orphans would mock him. He tossed and turned and was sure that sleep would never find him. But somehow, he must have slept, for all of a sudden, the morning birds were singing outside his window, and Fabrizio was gently prodding his shoulder to wake him.

"Arise, little master," Fabrizio said. "Wash thy face and hands, and I shall help thee to dress. I have brought thee a roll of bread, and when thou hast eaten, we shall be on our way."

With heavy heart, Marcello washed himself, making sure to scrub behind his ears. He squirmed into his hose and donned the trunks that Fabrizio fastened for him, then pulled one of his new doublets over his shirt and held out his arms so that Fabrizio could attach the sleeves. He reached for a hat, but Fabrizio shook his head.

"Thou hast no need of a fine hat for such a short journey, little master," Fabrizio said. "What thou dost not bring with the to the Hospital, thou wilt not misplace once thou art installed there. Thy hat will await thy return."

So Marcello let the hat remain. He stepped into his shoes and took one last look around the room. He would bring no luggage with him. Papa had told him that Uncle Mercutio and Uncle Benvolio would provide all that was needful at the Innocents' Hospital, and it would be cruel to taunt the poor children by bringing fine things that they could not have into their home.

There was no ceremonial farewell for Marcello. Papa and Mama had bidden him farewell the night before, and they had assured him that they would be waiting to welcome him home with open arms in two weeks' time. As Fabrizio led Marcello out of the house, Marcello turned for one last glimpse. In an upper window, he spied Olivia, clearly just risen from bed, in her nightgown, her hair wild and unbrushed. She smiled and waved to him, her small hand whipping back and forth at the wrist. Oddly cheered by his sister's display, Marcello waved back at her, then turned to follow Fabrizio to his fate.


	4. Here Stands All Your State

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **4\. Here Stands All Your State**
> 
> * * *

**4\. Here Stands All Your State**

* * *

A pleasant-looking chambermaid in her middle years greeted Marcello and Fabrizio at the door of the Innocents' Hospital. Marcello was glad that Uncle Mercutio had not been the one to open the door, but was immediately ashamed of the thought. Fabrizio placed a letter in the chambermaid's hand and requested that she pass it to Uncle Benvolio. "This is young Marcello Montague," he said. "He is to be clothed and housed in a manner befitting an inmate here and then brought before the masters of this house."

The chambermaid nodded, as though she heard such requests every day, and held an arm out to Marcello. Marcello took one last glance at Fabrizio, but Fabrizio's face remained expressionless.

"Go with her, little master," he said. "I shall return for thee in a fortnight." He prodded Marcello's shoulder, and Marcello turned back to the chambermaid.

She put her arm around his shoulders and led him inside the house. Marcello glanced around the entry hall, and was surprised to see that it looked very much like the entryway of his own home. "It is lovely," he said. "I did not know that there would be paintings."

"They belong to the house," the chambermaid said. "Master Rinuccini saw no cause for their removal, so they remain."

Marcello followed the chambermaid through the house. They passed a schoolroom where a group of boys sat listening attentively to a friar. A few of the boys looked out the door as Marcello and the chambermaid passed, but they quickly returned their attention to their lessons, as if the sight of a stranger was nothing new to them. Marcello was surprised to see that, at least upon the first glance, the schoolroom looked very much like the one at the Latin school. He wondered what his schoolmates were doing now, and what they had said when he had not appeared for lessons.

The chambermaid led Marcello upstairs and showed him into a large chamber that held many simple frame beds. They looked like the truckle beds that pulled out from many of the large beds in Marcello's home, where the servants slept. The chambermaid indicated one towards the middle of the dormitory. "Thou wilt sleep in that bed," she said. "There is a pot beneath it. Stay thou here a moment, and I will find thee raiment more befitting this house."

She ran a critical eye over Marcello, then nodded and left the dormitory. Gingerly, Marcello sat on his new bed. The pallet was not as thick as his mattress at home, but the ropes that supported it seemed sturdy and a little bit forgiving. He supposed that he could sleep comfortably enough for a fortnight.

The chambermaid returned bearing a simple outfit, shirt, hose and jacket of plain linen that had once been vibrant purple, but that had faded to lavender with time and washing. She helped Marcello to change, her touch kindly but impersonal enough that he did not think to be embarrassed at the thought of a woman helping him to undo his sleeves. He did sniff the jacket when the chambermaid's back was turned, and he was relieved to smell only herbs and cedar wood.

"I shall place thy fine things away in a cupboard to keep them safe," the chambermaid said. "Go thou to the study on the third floor. Master Montague desires a word with thee."

For a moment, Marcello was confused, for he was Master Montague. Then he realized that it must be Uncle Benvolio who desired his presence. Relieved that he would not have to face Uncle Mercutio just yet, Marcello left the dormitory and went upstairs.

* * *

The study turned out to be a pleasant room whose dark wood paneling was brightened by the sunlight that shone in through the windows. It was a warm day outside, and several of the windows stood open to admit a breeze. Uncle Benvolio sat at the desk, clicking beads on an abacus as he worked rapidly through a sheet of figures. He looked up when Marcello knocked, but did not speak, instead motioning Marcello to a chair at the side of the room. Marcello sat and looked around at the shelves of books and curious objects that lined the walls.

It was not long before Uncle Benvolio clicked the last bead of the abacus back into place, and then he turned his attention to Marcello. "So," he said, "here is our small ruffian." His voice was not as loving and warm as Marcello was accustomed to hear, but neither did he sound especially angry. Encouraged, Marcello rose and came to stand before the desk.

"I am here, Uncle," he said.

"So thou art. Be welcome in this home." Uncle Benvolio leaned back in his chair and gave Marcello a gaze that was at once gentle and searching. "I trust we both know wherefore thou hast come to dwell here," he said.

Marcello hung his head. "Ay," he choked out.

"Well, thou hast the sense to be humble about it, and that is encouraging." Uncle Benvolio smiled a little. "Thy father did tell me that he wishes thee to learn humility and compassion for children less fortunate than thou, and it seems that thou hast made a good beginning."

Marcello did not immediately know how to respond to that, so he bowed a little.

"It is our custom that Mercutio or I spend some time with every newcomer to this home," Uncle Benvolio said, "and thus shall it be with thee. Is there aught that thou wouldst speak of ere I tell thee the rule of the Hospital?"

"Is Uncle Mercutio still angered?" Marcello asked.

Uncle Benvolio laughed a little. "Nay, not so much as thou dost fear. I spoke with him yesternight, and I think thou wilt return to his good graces when next thou dost see him. He does not take thee for a villain, but mark well: Mercutio has no love for bullies, and he would not see thee, of all the children in Verona, become such a one."

"I shall be as virtuous as I may manage," Marcello said. "Only . . . I am not certain that I wish to encounter the boy that I fought."

"Well, there is thy penance," Uncle Benvolio replied lightly. "Sebastian and his brother Benedetto dwell here with the others, and this house is not so large that thou canst avoid them. I shall trust thee to make what apologies are needful, and perhaps in doing so, thou wilt learn the lesson for which thy father sent thee here."

"Oh." Marcello studied a crack in the floorboards for a while. "Does it anger you that I am here?" he murmured.

Uncle Benvolio considered his answer before he spoke. "I am saddened that thou didst assault one of my children, and I wish that things had not come to such a pass. But thou art still Marcello, my beloved kinsman and godson, and I confess that I am glad of the chance to spend this fortnight in thy company."

His words cheered Marcello's heart, and Marcello was at last able to give a real smile. Uncle Benvolio smiled back, and then began to tell Marcello the routine of the Innocents' Hospital.

* * *

Marcello spent the dinner hour closeted with old Friar John, the Hospital's schoolmaster. Friar John asked Marcello about his lessons at the Latin school and set him a few basic examinations. When Marcello had finished, Friar John looked at his work and nodded. "Thou wilt study with the most advanced students in this house," he said. "Fortunately, thou art not yet so learned that I cannot teach thee. Come to the schoolroom at the hour of three today."

Marcello's next visit was with Giulio the gardener, who showed him the fruit orchards and explained that Marcello would be among the children who helped to tend the trees. Marcello had never done such work before, but he held his tongue and accepted the instructions as Giulio gave them.

When the clock struck three, Marcello presented himself in the schoolroom and found three other boys, all older than he was. Friar John indicated that Marcello should sit next to the youngest of the three, a dark-haired boy of perhaps fourteen or fifteen years. The boy looked at him expectantly, and Marcello realized that he had to introduce himself.

"I am called Marcello," he stammered, not entirely comfortable with announcing his kinship with Uncle Benvolio. But the boy did not seem to care that Marcello had omitted his family name.

"I am Cardenio," he said, in a voice softer than Marcello had expected. But Cardenio seemed friendly enough, and Marcello found himself able to relax a little and pay attention to the lesson that Friar John was explaining. The lesson was not unlike those that Friar Cristoforo taught in the Latin school, and Marcello took some small comfort in knowing that he would not be far behind his class when he was allowed to return.

* * *

It was at bedtime that Marcello's good humor began to crumble. All day long, he had been absorbed with seeing new things and meeting new people. But when night fell, and he went to the dormitory to which he had been assigned, the reality of his punishment returned to him. Instead of kissing Olivia good night and then having Fabrizio tuck him into his large, soft bed, he said his prayers in a room full of strange boys and then crawled into the small rope bed. It was not uncomfortable, but it felt foreign and confining to one who was not accustomed to it. Marcello curled up on his pillow and pinched his mouth shut so that he would not cry aloud.

Some of the boys murmured softly to each other for a while, but the talking did not last long before they fell asleep. All around him, Marcello heard the creak of ropes as boys shifted in bed, and the soft snuffles and snores of the other sleepers in the room. A bracketed candle glowed softly, so that the place was not fully dark. Marcello pulled the covers over his head and sought a dream of home.

In the depths of the night, children cried out and muttered darkly. A few beds down from Marcello, Cardenio tossed and squirmed in his dreams. One boy woke up with a horrible choked scream, tearing Marcello from his own misery. Propped up on his elbow, he watched as two of the children who had been sleeping nearby reached out to grasp the terrified boy's hands and ease him back to sleep. As the dormitory returned to its relative calm, Marcello lay awake and wondered if this was what it might be like to sleep in a madhouse.

* * *

Because he had not slept well in his narrow bed in the dormitory filled with strange children, Marcello greeted the morning in a foul mood. He scowled as he joined the crowd of boys waiting their turn to wash at the great ewers at the end of the room. Most of the boys kept a respectful distance, which Marcello appreciated until it was time to get dressed. He realized that he would have to wear the same faded linen suit that he had worn the day before. With a sigh, he pulled it off of its hook, shrugged into the shirt, and stepped into the hose and trunks.

The jacket presented another problem, for Marcello could not attach the sleeves by himself. Normally, Fabrizio would attend him in the mornings to help him dress, but in the Innocents' Hospital, Marcello was left to his own devices. Peeking around the room, he noticed that the other boys had removed their jackets without detaching the sleeves, and were thus able to dress themselves without aid in the morning. Marcello wished he had thought of that as he twisted around in a vain effort to match the laces at his shoulder.

"Come, shall I aid thee?" Cardenio asked.

Marcello saw that Cardenio was already fully dressed while he himself was still struggling. He swallowed the burst of shame that rose in his throat and nodded. "Ay," he whispered. "I would be glad of it."

He held out one arm, and Cardenio laced the sleeve swiftly. "Do not be ashamed," he said as he moved to do the other sleeve. "We aid each other when need arises. Some of the boys are too small to fasten their own clothing, and even a child of wealth may be orphaned or cast from his home."

Marcello almost told Cardenio that he was not an orphan or a castoff, but at the last moment, he thought better of it and held his tongue. Instead, he resolved to leave his sleeves laced when he removed his jacket in the evening. Cardenio finished lacing him, then stood back to look him over. "Now art thou properly attired," he said. "Come, straighten thy bedclothes, and I will walk with thee to morning Mass."

* * *

Marcello saw Uncle Mercutio in the corridor after Mass, as the children clustered around him to receive their instructions for the day. This process was not as swift as in the serving quarters of the Montague home, for Uncle Mercutio gave each child a kindly word, and embraced some of the smaller boys who requested it. As Marcello shuffled forward in the crowd, he wondered if he ought to apologize, but Uncle Mercutio solved his dilemma by waving him over.

"Ah, Marcello, welcome to my home," he said cheerfully, and held out an arm.

Marcello accepted the invitation eagerly and hurried to embrace Uncle Mercutio. Uncle Mercutio held him close for a moment and spoke low in his ear.

"Thy welcome is complete, and thou hast my affections as well," he said. "Use thy time wisely; learn what thy lord father has sent thee to learn, but take time to make friends as well, for I would not have thee be lonely and isolate." He released Marcello with a friendly ruffle of his hair, before sending him off to the orchard.

* * *

It was in the orchard that Marcello had the encounter that he dreaded the most. He was spreading mulch over the roots of a cherry tree under Giulio's watchful eye when he caught sight of a familiar figure carrying a pail of water. Marcello tried to duck behind the cherry tree, but Sebastian spotted him and hurried over, with his twin brother Benedetto hot on his heels.

"Why, thou art Marcello Montague," Sebastian said. "Wherefore art thou here? Have thy parents died suddenly? Benedetto, perhaps there is plague in the city!"

Benedetto frowned. "There is no plague," he said. "We should have received word. I think he has come to steal back the coat that thou dost wear."

Sebastian wrapped his arms around his body. "I shall not give thee my coat," he informed Marcello, "though thou wouldst beat me black and blue. It is a fine coat, and I know not when I shall have another as lovely."

"I shall knock thee down if thou dost attempt to strip him of it," Benedetto added. "My brother has promised me that I might wear it half of the time."

Shame swelled in Marcello's breast. Sebastian and Benedetto were only little boys after all, the same age as Olivia. "I am not come to take the doublet from thy back," he mumbled. "It is too small for me in any event."

Sebastian's eyes narrowed. "Then wherefore art thou here?" he asked again.

Marcello hung his head. "My lord father has sent me to dwell here for a fortnight that I might learn humility," he said.

Sebastian and Benedetto looked at each other, puzzled. "Thy lord father would punish thee so?" Benedetto asked.

Marcello nodded and waited for the mockery to begin. Instead, to his astonishment, Benedetto sighed.

"Would that my father would punish me for my misdeeds," he said. "For then I should have a father."

"Wilt thou tell us more of thy father?" Sebastian asked. "If thou wilt tell stories while we work, then I shall wear thy old doublet and imagine that thou speakest of my father."

"Why, who is thy father?" Marcello asked.

Sebastian shrugged. "I know not. He was a soldier passing through Verona for a night. That is all that Benedetto or I have heard tell of him."

"Oh." Marcello did not know where to look. He had not thought that bastard children would be so forgiving of their lot in life. The silence stretched out. Desperate to fill it, Marcello began to tell the twins about Papa and Mama, who loved him, and had not truly abandoned him after all.


	5. Sounding And Discovery

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **5\. Sounding And Discovery**

**5\. Sounding And Discovery**

* * *

Over the course of the first week, the Innocents' Hospital gradually became less foreign to Marcello. He learned where things were and could soon find his way around with no mistakes. He remembered not to remove the sleeves from his jacket at night, and was able to dress himself in the mornings. He even began to find the sleeping sounds of the other children in his dormitory oddly comforting. Though he had not made any particularly close friends, he found that he enjoyed spending time with Sebastian and Benedetto. Cardenio was oddly shy for a boy of his age, but he seemed to enjoy spending a quiet hour studying with Marcello in the free time between supper and bedtime. Uncle Mercutio and Uncle Benvolio spent the days at the Hospital, and Marcello soon learned that they were usually prepared to interrupt their work if a child was in pain or distress or simply wanted to visit.

Marcello tried not to take advantage of them too much. Many of the other boys had realized that he was Uncle Benvolio's godson, and would quickly cede Uncle Benvolio's time to Marcello if they thought he desired it. But Marcello knew that some of them came to his uncles in the depths of despair, for on some occasions when he had wandered by a room where Uncle Benvolio or Uncle Mercutio was, he had heard the sound of a child weeping accompanied by Uncle Mercutio's soothing murmurs or Uncle Benvolio's gentle singing. A week of sleeping in the dormitory had taught him that many of his fellow inmates were deeply troubled, and he had no wish to intrude upon them when they sought comfort for their hurts.

But he was also glad that his uncles did not neglect him. Uncle Benvolio ruffled his hair one morning with a friendly smile. "We dined with thy parents yesternight," he said. "They asked after thy wellbeing, and they anticipate your return to them with joy."

"Did you tell them that I miss them?" Marcello asked. "And Olivia. And Nurse Angelica."

"I did. I also told them that your progress here has been satisfactory thus far. Thy father will be pleased to see the change in thee when thou dost return to him."

* * *

Uncle Benvolio's words warmed Marcello's heart for a few hours, but as the afternoon wore on, he grew discontented. A fortnight seemed a long time to be cast out of one's home, especially when Uncle Benvolio thought Marcello had made so much progress. He dragged through his lessons and declined Sebastian and Benedetto's offer to play afterwards, for he could not find it in his heart to be merry.

Cardenio was as undemanding a companion as ever when they studied in the evening, pushing his chair a little closer to Marcello's in a gesture of silent comfort. But even Cardenio could not lift the cloud of gloom from Marcello's heart.

Just before bedtime, there was a small commotion at the door, and when Marcello tried to investigate, a chambermaid shooed him away. None of the other children seemed perturbed by it, so Marcello followed them to bed. He lay in the darkness for a long time feeling sorry for himself and wishing that his term of punishment would be over so that he could go home.

* * *

The next day, Uncle Mercutio did not appear after breakfast to greet the children and give them their assignments. Instead, Friar John gave directions for the day, and he tasked Marcello with gathering the eggs that the hens had laid early in the morning. Marcello hunted dutifully, and returned to the house with nearly two dozen eggs in his basket. He presented them to the cooks in the kitchen and was pleased to hear that there were enough to make a large frittata for supper that night.

As Marcello came downstairs to the main living quarters of the Hospital, he saw Uncle Mercutio in the corridor with Sebastian and Benedetto at his side. Uncle Mercutio caught sight of Marcello and waved to him.

"Marcello," he said, "I am glad to see thee, for I require the services of one more child. Come, follow me to the day salon."

Curious, Marcello trailed after him. He glanced at Sebastian and Benedetto, but they shrugged when Uncle Mercutio was not looking. It seemed that they did not know what was to happen, either.

In the day salon, Uncle Mercutio invited the boys to sit around an elegantly inlaid table, then produced a pack of playing cards and a small cloth bag from his doublet. "Do you know how to play Calabrache?" he asked. Marcello knew the game, having learned it at recess in the Latin school. Sebastian and Benedetto were less familiar with the rules, so Uncle Mercutio dealt them each eight cards, spread the rest on the table, poured a handful of small glass beads from the bag to serve as stakes, and explained how to take turns fishing for pairs and mournivals.

Calabrache was not a difficult game, and Sebastian and Benedetto took to it quickly. After an awkward first few hands, their play became accomplished enough that Marcello had time to wonder at the oddity of this sudden card party.

"Wherefore sit we here to play?" he asked. "It is not that I am not glad to play Calabrache, but it is not usu-"

"Hush, Marcello," Uncle Mercutio said. He gathered the cards and dealt another hand. In a low voice, he added, "We are not alone here. Nay, do not glance over thy shoulder. Somewhere in this salon - I know not where - there is a boy who arrived at the Hospital in the evening hours. He is frightened and has concealed himself here."

Marcello resisted the urge to look around. "The salon is not over large," he whispered. "Why do we not search? We should find him more swiftly."

Uncle Mercutio shook his head. "We might find him more swiftly, but I do not wish to hunt him. I think that he will come to us, if we play here."

They played three more hands, and then Marcello saw something move behind one of the long curtains. Sebastian snatched a pair from under his nose, but he ignored the move. "He is behind the curtain, Uncle Mercutio," Marcello murmured.

Uncle Mercutio nodded, but did not turn around. "Thou hast a good eye, Marcello," he said. "But look to thy cards, for I have spied a mournival that thou canst take."

Marcello turned his attention back to the game. Slowly, a ragged little boy emerged from behind the curtain and tiptoed closer to the card party. He stood just out of reach and peered intently at the cards on the table. At last, Uncle Mercutio sighed.

"Ah, me," he said. "I cannot make head or tail of my cards. Perhaps I must lay them down at last." With a sly wink, he turned his hand just enough that the new boy could see it. "Dost thou see a pair that I might make?" he asked.

The boy's glance darted swiftly between the cards and Uncle Mercutio's face. He spoke no word, but pointed at one particular card.

"The four of clubs," Uncle Mercutio said. "Of course!" He made the pair and set it before him, then turned back to the new boy. "I thank thee," he said.

The boy flashed a quick, uncertain smile, but said nothing. He remained at Uncle Mercutio's elbow for a few more hands, silently pointing to cards, seeming not to notice that Uncle Mercutio was making fewer and fewer decisions of his own, instead allowing the boy to play the hand that Uncle Mercutio held for him.

"I believe that we have had enough of Calabrache," Uncle Mercutio said after a while. "Shall we play a different game? I shall teach you to play One-And-Thirty." All four of the boys nodded enthusiastically.

One-And-Thirty involved more serious wagering for the glass beads. Marcello wondered aloud if this wagering was sinful, but Uncle Mercutio laughed.

"We do not play for coin, but only for glass beads," he explained. "The Church means only to forbid that which would interfere with the peace of the citizenry. A child's game, played for worthless stakes, is so far below its notice as to be not worthy of the title of sin."

He led them in play for a short time, but quickly ceded his position to the new boy. "Can you all play together for a short time?" he asked. "I have some pressing business to which I must attend."

Marcello suspected that Uncle Mercutio had no such pressing business at all, but he had begun to see his uncle's logic, so he nodded and held his tongue. Uncle Mercutio bowed to them and walked away, leaving the four boys to play One-And-Thirty together. Marcello started to deal out another hand, but Sebastian stopped him.

"I would know the names of all my playmates," he said. "I am Sebastian, and this is my brother Benedetto. We are twins." He said this last with an air of smug satisfaction, as though it were not completely obvious to everyone who saw them together.

"I am Marcello." He had noticed that surnames were not used among the inmates of the Innocents' Hospital, and supposed that it was to avoid shaming those who were bastards and had no surnames of their own.

The new boy looked down at the card table, then raised his eyes. "I am Orlando," he whispered.

Benedetto smiled. "Orlando, just as in the story!" he cried. "I shall enjoy having a friend named Orlando."

Orlando straightened, and a matching smile spread across his face. Marcello shuffled the cards.

"Come," he said. "Now that Orlando is our friend, let us play."

* * *

The four boys remained together long after they had tired of playing cards. Sebastian and Benedetto told Orlando all about the lessons and tasks of the Hospital. Their eyes glowed with enthusiasm as they spoke of caring for the fruit trees, having lessons with Friar John, and of the journeyman artisans who taught them the beginnings of trades, and to whose masters some of the boys would be apprenticed. Benedetto expounded at great length upon the skill of the cooks and the variety and abundance of the food, and Orlando wiggled with delight to hear his tales.

It struck Marcello suddenly that he did not know Orlando, though he knew almost all the children of rank in Verona. That meant that Orlando most likely did not come of noble blood. Perhaps he was one of the poor for whom Marcello dropped a coin into the box every time he attended Mass. He might even be one of the children to whom Nurse Angelica referred when she occasionally ordered Marcello to eat a supper of artichokes, which he did not like, because the poor children of the city would be glad of the chance to eat them. Marcello supposed that, if Orlando had been one of those children who was so poor that he had to eat artichokes whether he liked them or not, then it was no wonder that he exulted over the prospect of eating food that Marcello considered perfectly acceptable, but certainly not exceptional.

This was a new thought, and Marcello had to walk away and sit in the garden for a while so that he could examine it. The children of the Innocents' Hospital, who had been his friends, seemed foreign again. They cared not for the niceties of cuisine nor for family honor, for within the walls of the Hospital, all food was received eagerly, and there were no families whose honor one could defend.

As he sat in contemplation, he heard footsteps. He looked up to see Uncle Mercutio standing nearby, a friendly half-smile on his face.

"Sebastian and Benedetto asked me to look after thee," Uncle Mercutio said. "They said that thou didst leave their company of a sudden, with little word. They feared that thou wast troubled or in distress. Art thou well?"

For a moment, Marcello was too puzzled to reply. "They feared for me?" he squeaked out.

"They hold themselves to be thy friends." Uncle Mercutio's eyes shone with wry humor. "I am told that friends fear when those they love appear to be in distress."

"I am amazed that they hold me to be their friend," Marcello said, "for I threatened to thrash Sebastian not a fortnight past."

"And now he doth name thee friend. Is it not marvelous how one's fortunes may change so swiftly?"

Marcello nodded. "Mine have done that, and more besides. Already I feel that the world has been created entirely anew, for I have found things here that I never knew existed. How is it possible that such a world as this exists within Verona's walls, and I knew nothing of it?"

Uncle Mercutio's eyes were oddly distant. "Ah, Marcello, that is one of the great mysteries, that worlds may exist upon worlds, and secrets upon secrets, and yet all remain ignorant of the others. Few things are what they appear at first glance."

Uncle Mercutio smiled, but Marcello realized that there were hidden worlds there as well. This thought shook him more deeply than anything that Sebastian or Benedetto or Orlando had said to him. He had known Uncle Mercutio all his life, and the thought that there might be worlds unknown to him within his jolly, boisterous uncle was at once troubling and fascinating. Marcello had always prided himself upon being the boy who always had the correct answer in the schoolroom, but now it seemed that nothing was certain anymore. He did not know whether that thought frightened him or not.

"What shall I do with all of these secrets and worlds?" he asked. "If nothing is what it appears to be, how may I continue, never knowing what is real?"

"Why, now thou dost ask the questions of a sage!" Uncle Mercutio replied, a note of delight in his voice. "I am not a man of wisdom, but I shall answer thee as I may. The best that can be done with undiscovered worlds is to believe that they might exist. Walk thy path of life, but stand not rigid and amazed when thou dost encounter something new, nor strike blindly at it in tremulous rage. If thou art clever enough to look beneath the surface, and willing to see what presents itself, then perhaps thou wilt discover treasures greater than the jewels of Arabia and the gold of distant Mexico."

"I have seen some secret worlds already, I think," Marcello said. "They frightened me."

Uncle Mercutio nodded. "Not all secrets are kind," he said. "But unkind secrets are the ones that most require revelation, for they flee like the fog of night when it is touched by the rays of the morning."

An idea blossomed in Marcello's mind, and he blurted it out before he could think better of it. "Is that why you and Uncle Benvolio have the Hospital?" he asked.

Uncle Mercutio laughed. "Ay, thou hast hit the mark most nicely," he said. "That is our business, to expose secrets to the air."

He said no more, but sat in companionable silence with Marcello as they contemplated the pear trees. "Thy parents will reclaim thee the day after tomorrow," Uncle Mercutio said after a while.

"Truly?" Marcello had thought himself accustomed to life in the Innocents' Hospital, but now, at the mention of his family, he found that he longed for home as much as ever.

"Ay, truly. I shall miss seeing thy smile in the mornings."

"Then I am well and truly punished?"

Uncle Mercutio turned and fixed Marcello with his bright blue gaze. "Dost thou feel thyself to be punished?"

Marcello considered the question. Finally, shamefully, he shook his head. "I do not. I feel . . . I know not. I have made friends here, and I have learned many things - how to play One-And-Thirty, and how to care for fruit trees, and how to hunt eggs. I shall miss Sebastian and Benedetto and Orlando - think you that they might still play with me on Sundays?"

"I know not. I think that Sebastian and Benedetto would, but I do not yet know Orlando well enough to say."

"Oh." Marcello considered what he had just said. "Is it wrong that I do not feel punished?"

Uncle Mercutio smiled and shook his head. "Nay, Marcello. It is right, more right than perhaps thou knowest. In truth, I am glad to hear thy words, for now I am sure that thy coming here was the proper course of action." He patted Marcello on the shoulder. "Wilt thou rejoin thy friends? They would not waste the brief remainder of thy time here."

Marcello turned and saw Benedetto waving at him. Sebastian stood beside him, holding a hoop, and Orlando waved a fistful of sticks. It was the free hour, and it was time for play. Marcello flashed a quick smile at Uncle Mercutio, then jumped off the bench and ran to where his friends awaited him.

* * *

END

* * *

 **Afterword:** Many thanks to everyone who has read and enjoyed this story. Marcello has had the beginnings of a real education here, though the best effects won't show for several more years. But he's almost old enough to be let in on some of the family secrets, so in the end, Romeo's plan of punishment probably came at just the right time for Marcello.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Afterword: Many thanks to everyone who has read and enjoyed this story. Marcello has had the beginnings of a real education here, though the best effects won't show for several more years. But he's almost old enough to be let in on some of the family secrets, so in the end, Romeo's plan of punishment probably came at just the right time for Marcello.


End file.
